


Burn

by PrincessTea



Series: Women of The Tudors (One-shots ) [3]
Category: The Tudors
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessTea/pseuds/PrincessTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary tries to come to terms with her mother's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn

Mary clutched the piece of parchment to her chest, she held onto it tightly with all her strength. Her knuckles turned white and her faced turned red. She was never going to let go, never.

 

Her beautiful Mother, her kind good Mother was gone. Mary would never laugh with her again, play the lute with her again or frolic through the court gardens again, like they did when Mary was younger.  
Mary had been robbed, her Mother deceived. Catherine of Aragon was the very embodiment of grace, beauty and goodness. Not a day went by when she was on her knees in prayer or serving the sick and hungry with her very own hands. Little, dainty hands that enjoyed playing cards and clapping while her Spanish ladies danced for her. There had not been enough time, not enough stolen moments, not enough days in the year. 

In a moment of brash Tudor anger Mary screwed the piece of parchment up tightly in her fist. The letter confirmed her mothers death, the end of a life.The women who had tried so hard to bring her into the world, Mary thought of all the brothers and sisters that would of been hers but weren't. She was completely alone now. 

Why had God not given her Mother a son? Why couldn't Mary herself have been the boy her father wanted so badly?

Mary threw the piece of parchment into the fire. She sat on the stone floor of her chamber and watched the paper burn. The fire rose up and swallowed it, burning it to a crisp. It was gone forever.

It was almost night now, fire illuminated Mary's stone chamber. Sitting on the floor with her knees tucked under her chin, Mary would not sleep tonight nor the night after that. Instead she chose to watch the fire, dancing, creating shadows on the wall. Her own brown eyes alight with flame, It should have been hot for her in her black morning gown, her red brown hair covering her neck. She was so cold though that she shivered. So cold that she ached for the gentle embrace that only another human could give her. 

Mary did not weep, of late she had done enough of that. Mary was strong she was the Granddaughter of Isabel and Ferdinand, daughter of Catherine. Their blood ran in her veins, she was the product of their love and goodness. Their victories were hers and so were their sorrows. So many sorrows filled Mary's aching body. 

Catherine had never given up though, even to her death and abandonment she called herself Queen. She was right too, Catherine was Queen. Even in death her Father could not take that way from her, even if he had given the title to another. Someone that had not deserved it unlike her Mother who was born to it, who wore a crown even when it was not on her head. Being a Queen was so much more than being a King's Wife. Catherine of Aragon was loved by the people, loved by England. 

 

 

Her Mother was with God now, finally welcomed as the Angel she was, the angel she is.

 

This thought sustained Mary as she continued to watch the fire burn. 

 

 

 

Her Mother would never of wanted her to feel sadness, to be so alone. Where would Mary turn? Ultimately she had no way to even know how to begin to say goodbye to her Mother, she had not been there to watch her leave this world. Her Mother had asked for her though, wept for her child that never came. 

What Man could do that? Mary knew the answer to that. Not a Man but a King, a King could do that. A King could get away with it because he was King.

 

 

Mary had never doubted God's plans for her. Her Mother had told her the last time she had seen her,

''Mary my child, Mary my sweet. Go with God and follow him and where he goes you will find me there also''.

 

Mary closed her eyes and turned from the fire, she turned from her pain and her grief. She turned from the past, from her father and all the hurt.

Mary looked up, she looked up to God. 

 

 

On her knees in prayer Mary found God and with him her Mother also. 

 

 

 

 

The fire burned on and on as Mary finally did not feel so alone.


End file.
